


Return to Me

by CheerUpLovely



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 4 + 1 fic, F/M, Making Up, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 04:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9699794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerUpLovely/pseuds/CheerUpLovely
Summary: Four times Oliver tries to win Felicity back, and the one time he succeeds.Set in season 4b





	

**Author's Note:**

> normalisjustafairytale said: On the prompt front, 4 n 1 quickie of four times Oliver tried to win her back and one time he succeeded. All the fluffy things that make Felicity weak at the knees.

The mug finds itself a home on her desk with a minuscule ‘thud’ that she almost misses beneath the furious hammering of her fingers against the keyboard. They’ve been searching for Darhk so intensely the last few days that she’s not entirely certain she’s slept in the last forty-eight hours, which would be far easier to work out if she’d paid attention to the time they actually started this insane manhunt. Now, all she knows is that she’s exhausted, that she can’t remember the last time she went to the bathroom, and that she’s not entirely certain if that smell is coming from her or not.   
  
But she knows that she’s under-caffeinated and thirsty as hell, so the acknowledgement of the mug at her side comes at the same moment the delicious aroma of coffee sends a wash of relaxation through her, however temporarily. 

She takes the mug in her hands, cold from overuse and the terrible air system they really needed to look at, and lets the tendrils of steam drift closer towards her, sinking back in her chair. As she does, she’s more aware Oliver at her side than she has been at any point in the last few hours.   
  
“Take a break when you can, it’s going to be a long night,” he tells her heavily, and she knows it’s because a long night is far from what any of them need.   
  
“Thanks for the coffee,” she mutters quietly in response, giving him a small smile (which is all she can manage on this amount of sleep) as his hand slips onto her shoulder and squeezes lightly.   
  
“Always,” he assures her, letting the dire outcome of the day fade away as he matches the curve of her lips just for an instant, and when he disappears she can’t help but keep smiling until one of her searches distracts her.   
  
Because he may forget to take a shower, sleep, or eat on days like this, but he’d never let her go without coffee.

—-

He almost jumps when she slides the window open, which surprises her. He’s been very attuned to which part of the loft she’s been in, either the living area, the upstairs landing while she folds the laundry, or now the bedroom. Her thumb had hovered over his name on her phone when she first noticed the shadow outside the window, but she quickly realizes that her nighttime watchman is none other than the Arrow himself.

It’s almost haunting, the way he hovers outside, but it’s been a long day - too long a day - and knowing that he’s right outside makes her feel a little safer as she goes about her evening routine and gets ready for bed.

She can’t bring herself to let him stay outside all night - and he will - so she opens the window beside where his shadow falls and leans out to see his leather-clad form perched against the wall.

“I’m okay, you know,” she tells him when he says nothing at her intrusion on his solitude.

“I know,” he nods quietly.

“It’s going to rain tonight,” she adds. “You don’t have to sit out here all night in the rain.”

“I know,” he repeats. But he watches her, and he makes no move to leave and go back to his own home, so she tilts her head, waiting for him to speak. “I was just checking in.”

“Rough night,” she agrees with a nod. “Thank you, for checking in, but you really don’t have to stay, I’m heading to bed now,” she assures him.

He watches her, and she can see what he’s really looking for; a sign that she’s not okay. Yes, it was a hard night. It was far too hard, by their usual standards, and it’s not every night that their own home base becomes invaded and unsafe, especially whens he’s the only one there, so she lets him take in the sight of her assuring smile until he’s sure by his own standards that she’s not about to fall apart at the seams, and then he nods.

“I’m just going to sit a while longer,” he tells her. He means a few hours, until the rain starts, until he absolutely can’t justify sitting outside in the rain and she knows that he’ll slink home and underplay the chill the following day when everything starts over. “If that’s okay with you?”

There were times, years before when this crusade didn’t consume every inch of their souls, when he wouldn’t ask for permission, when he’d sit outside her old apartment on the fire escape beyond her bedroom window and make sure that nothing harmed her. Even on nights she didn’t think he’d be there, he would sit and keep watch, and she’d let him because it was what they both needed. Now, he asks because they’re not sure what their new normal is after their previous normal was to be one another’s everything.

So she nods, and lets him do what he needs to do. “If you need anything, you don’t have to sit outside. Coffee’s in the pot,” she tells him, before she closes the window without waiting for a reply.

No matter where they stand romantically, they’ll always stand back to back, the two of them against the world.   
  


—

The second she sees him outside her office, she feels a whirl of guilt inside her stomach. Everything that was a ‘maybe’ earlier in the day settled into a very firm ‘no’ and it’s entirely her fault that Oliver’s perched in the visitors seats near her assistant’s desk, his elbows leaned forward on his knees as he twists his hands with a look on his face that she can only describe as disappointment.

It’s horrible, the look of dying hope in his eyes. It makes her feel sick, the heat stirring up and consuming her whole while she tries not to take in the sight of Oliver disappointed - at her - in a suit - her weakness - and trying to hide it.

“Oliver, I’m so sorry, that meeting-”

“I know,” he assures her, shielding the disappointment with a smile that she’s far more used to. “Your assistant said it was unexpected.”

“It should have been resolved hours ago,” she berates herself, striding in towards her office and gesturing for him to join her before she stops in her tracks with a look of despair on her features. “Have you - did you sit there the whole time?” she asks him.

He just gives her another smile. “It’s okay, Felicity, I know we didn’t have anything planned.”

But that doesn’t explain why he’s waited. Or why he’s wearing a suit. Or why she can see suspenders. Or why that certain suit isn’t one that he’d usually wear. Or anything really.

Or why she’s said any of that out loud by the look on his face.

With a breath that looks like it settles him somewhat, he slips his hands into his pockets. “I was coming by to see if you wanted to come to dinner with me tonight,” he admits, before he shakes his head. “But then the meeting went on so long and I kind of remember why we never used to make spontaneous plans before.”

Before. They don’t speak much about before, but it seems to be slipping into conversation a lot lately. It’s never in a terrible way, but she can see he’s trying. He’s really trying lately, and she’s finding that she appreciates it, that she likes it. He’s not smothering her with grand gestures, he’s making efforts to remind her without pressure that he cares, that she’s special to him, that she deserves to feel appreciated. To feel loved.

It’s nice.

But it’s also too late for dinner.

“Big Belly’s still open,” she tells him weakly, as if the offer might drop at his feet.

But instead he smiles. And the night’s not a total disaster after all.

–

The congratulatory messages have been flooding in all day. Her email box is almost overflowing (or would be if she hadn’t upgraded the storage last month) and there’s an endless stream of messages from all over the country pouring in to sing her praises after the success of the morning. Today’s the day. The day she was starting to think would never arrive.

It’s been months of draining moments, horrible ones that make her doubt herself and her capabilities, but after finally getting everything under control (with help from sleepless nights and coffee runs that end up short-lived because really, what kind of Jitters store shuts at night? Don’t they know people need caffeinating?) the day has finally arrived.

As has a large bunch of flowers that she almost hits face-first as she returns to her office.

She manages not to spill her coffee as she places it down on her assistant’s desk after, apologizing to her sudden guest for walking straight into them, when the bouquet is lowered and Oliver’s smiling face is revealed behind them.

“Oliver? What are you doing here?” she asks.

“Congratulating you in person,” he beams, and he looks so proud it actually makes her heart ache.

And you know what? She deserves it. She knows she does. She’s done something incredible and it’s going to change so many people’s lives for the better.

“Thea told me the Board approved everything, and I know you’ve been killing yourself to get to this point and what it means to you so…” he held the flowers towards her slightly. “It’s not quite the jungle that people have sent you, but I wanted to bring them in person.”

The white buds capture her attention completely, and he’s right, they aren’t anywhere near as glamorous as the large flower displays that attendants have overwhelmed her office with, but the sight of them nearly floors her all the same. Her breath catches in her throat as she takes them from him, with a fond smile spreading over her face.

“Jasmines,” she murmurs. “You bought me these in Italy.”

“When you first took over Palmer Tech,” he remembers with a nod. “I’m as proud of you now as I was then.”

“Oliver…” she lifts her gaze to his once more and no, she’s not going to get misty eyed over flowers, she’s not that girl.

Except her day has been filled with emotional conversations with veterans who will now be approved to test the same bio-stimulant that lies in her spine. Men and women who have lost mobility during their service will be front of the line to be given back a huge portion of their lives, and they’re going to have it fully funded by the company. She knows it’s going to lead to bigger things, to making it an affordable healthcare option, and okay, so maybe she’s a little emotional after this long day.

“You’re an inspiration,” Oliver tells her, and yes, there are tears now. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

Some of the petals end up crushed with the force that she puts her arms around him.

—

He’s surrounded by dishes with half-eaten, stale food when she comes downstairs at last, and he doesn’t even pause at first from where he’s tipping what remains in the wine glasses littered around the kitchen surfaces down the sink. It’s a mess, but not as much as it had been the night before. She can hear the gentle hum of the dishwasher in action beyond the gentle clatter of him moving around the kitchen, and that he’s here, that Oliver’s still here rather than the two of them being alone, makes her never want to be apart from him again.

Laurel’s dead. She can’t change that. No one can bring her back.

She’d volunteered to host the gathering after the funeral at the loft. It seemed like a good idea at the time, given how empty it had been feeling, but now it just feels even more haunted than it had before. She wasn’t sure when she made it up to bed last night, but she remembers Oliver and Thea still talking when she did, and she told them to let themselves out, to stay as long as they wanted.

Judging by the folded blanket on the arm of the couch, Oliver had stayed all night.

And now he’s cleaning away what was left by the guests from the night before, things that no one had the energy to do the night before. If she’s honest, she’s let a lot slide lately and she’s assuming that he’s been awake far longer than he wants her to think unless she ignores that pile of folded laundry that certainly hadn’t been there yesterday.

When he finally glances her way it’s after she’s poured herself a coffee, and one for him as well. She sets it down at his side with a mumble of ‘seventeen’ (because she’ll always keep count) and he thanks her quietly before asking her how she wants her eggs. He must have been to the store as well.

“You know I love you, don’t you?” she checks.

His arms come around her, and she can feel the sigh caught in his chest because he doesn’t dare to hope. He should, though. He should have had hope because she knows how much he’s been trying and she appreciates it.

“I know,” he whispers into her hair, because it’s nice to hear the words even when it’s something he’s never doubted. “I love you too.”

“I know,” she repeats, because she does. Oliver wears his love out in the open, adoring and free, and she never has to think twice about how much he loves her. That was never up for question. “We’ll figure this out, right?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, before he plants his lips against the crown of her head. “But first, eggs.”

“Eggs,” she nods, and settles into place beside him.

Where she always knew she’d end up.


End file.
